


The Most Natural Thing In The World

by Secretbadass



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coming on a mirror, John has excellent bladder control, M/M, Masturbating John Watson, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, caught masturbating, masturbating sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 05:46:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13070373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secretbadass/pseuds/Secretbadass
Summary: Read the tags, dude.





	The Most Natural Thing In The World

John entered the flat through the kitchen door, looking around for Sherlock. His day at the surgery had been uneventful and his last two patients had cancelled, so he was home somewhat ahead of schedule. It was Friday, and he was hoping Sherlock would be up for a nice dinner out. The kitchen and living room were deserted, and the door to the loo was open...speaking of which, John’s bladder reminded him of some pressing business.

He was in the midst of said business when the muffled sounds of a possible scuffle caught his ear. He turned his head. Yes, that sounded like a thump and a muffled groan...coming from Sherlock’s room. Sherlock was in trouble! He cut himself off in midstream and hastily tucked himself away, not bothering to zip. He flung open the door to Sherlock’s room, ready to tackle whoever was messing with his friend.

Except no one was. John stopped short at the sight that greeted him: Sherlock Holmes, in all his naked glory ( _And Mother Mary_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully, _is that a lot of glory!_ ), writhing on the bed, face flushed, chest heaving and hand on cock. John hadn’t interrupted a crime in progress, he’d interrupted a wank. More specifically, he’d interrupted what appeared to be an earth-shattering wank, going by the way Sherlock went off like a geyser as soon as he caught sight of John. The detective groaned John's name as he shot off all over himself, the comforter, the pillows and even the headboard. John would have been impressed with the range of fire had he not been so mortified.

“OhmyGod,” John heard himself saying as he stood rooted to the spot. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry—” He cut himself off, finally regaining the power of movement and escaping back into the bathroom. He shut the door soundly behind him. “Oh my God,” he repeated, staring into his own shocked eyes in the mirror. He had just walked in on Sherlock. 

On _Sherlock_. 

_Wanking_. 

Holy Mary mother of—

All at once he became aware of two things: one, that he had blushed scarlet with mortification, and two, that he was a bit aroused. Okay, a lot aroused. Okay, so rock hard that the head of his cock was nudging at the waistband of his underwear and if he moved the wrong way, he was going to come off in his pants. Sherlock saying his name at a time like that, even if it had been in surprise, _dear God_ — John’s brain replayed the spectacular sight of Sherlock ejaculating, juxtaposing it with the sound of Sherlock groaning his name, and that was it. John knew he was done for. He scrambled to turn the tap on full blast to cover the sound of what he was about to do and freed his leaking cock from his pants. He wrapped a fist around his member, gasping at the contact. He hadn't been this oversensitive since his teens. Only a few strokes later, his climax overtook him, and then he was coming with a strangled cry, so hard that his chest felt like it was caving in and his vision whited out. Spurt after spurt struck the mirror with such force that he could hear the splatter even over the rushing water. 

When it finally ended, he stood a moment, eyes shut, gasping, cock still in hand. Knees shaking, he braced himself against the basin as he tried to catch his breath. He groped blindly for the tap and shut it off. 

“Well,” said a silken baritone in his ear. “It would seem we both have some housekeeping to do.”

John groaned and hung his head. Where was a sinkhole when you needed one?

“No need for embarrassment, John,” Sherlock purred. “The need for sexual release is perfectly natural, as I’m sure you know. As is a response to the sight of another person’s arousal. It’s normal to want to engage in...certain acts...” One long arm curled around John’s waist. “...to want to touch...” A hand snaked itself in under John’s shirt, caressing, exploring, locating the nub of one nipple and rolling it between two elegant fingers. “...or even to want to taste...” And Sherlock did, his breath hot and wet against John’s neck as he nibbled on John’s earlobe and licked a stripe along his jawline. John turned in his arms. Sherlock was still naked, and God, was he magnificent. 

John looked up into those incredible eyes, driven dark with desire, and knew he was lost. “Oh, God,” he whispered.

“Am I wrong, John?” asked Sherlock.

“No. No, you’re not wrong, Sherlock. Christ, no. I—”

Sherlock cupped John’s jaw and brought his face down to John’s, and he was right. It was the most natural thing in the world for their lips to meet, for the kiss to deepen and their tongues to slide against one another in the hot wetness, for their arms to come about one another and for John’s clothes to drop to the floor in a trail from the bathroom to Sherlock’s bed. It was natural for their bodies to writhe together, gasping, slick with sweat, rutting, sucking, frotting, cock on cock, and then coming again and again, on each other, in one another, each crying the other’s name. 

And then to sleep together, finally spent, exhausted, curled about each other in the bliss of slumber, as though they had always slept so and always would. 

And awakening in the night, still slotted together like puzzle pieces, and whispering their truths, murmuring their love, their devotion, their joy.

The most natural thing in the world.


End file.
